


Argentum's Home For Run Away Nobility

by dreamtowns



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Prophecy (Final Fantasy XV), BAMF Noctis Lucis Caelum, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Mild Language, Running Away, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-25 19:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: Prompto stares.The bunny, snug on Noctis’ shoulder, stares back.Prompto coughs after he loses the staring contest, and edges closer into the room. He sets his camera bag on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. “What, uh, what do ya have there, Noct? Buddy? Pal? Love of my life?”Noctis holds up the glossy magazine. As if there is not a living, breathing little animal currently chilling on his left shoulder. “It’s a catalog.”If Prompto weren’t so in love, he’d commit regicide right then and there.(or: the fic where noctis and prompto run away like the desperate twenty-somethings they are, live in a shitty apartment they make a home out of, and somehow end up housing half of the world on their couch.)





	Argentum's Home For Run Away Nobility

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [it's just you and me (and all the world crashing on the couch)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032270) by [ultalumna (yujael)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujael/pseuds/ultalumna). 

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV. All rights reserved to its developers: Square Enix. All that is mine is the plot of this story in particular and any original characters introduced. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors!

It has promise.

Okay, so the sink in the bathroom is definitely broken, and the window doesn’t open quite right. There’s a hole in the small room (closet, Prompto amends; it’s a literal closet) that houses the laundry unit. The freezer can’t even be called a freezer, and there’s a weird smell in one of the lower cupboards. But the apartment had been renovated and cleaned (sort of), so it came furnished—which, _a plus, _because Galdin Quay sure as hell isn’t cheap for two almost-broke runaways—and sure, none of the furniture and décor matches, but they have a bedroom, and they have a kitchen, and a bathroom, and a small living room, so. 

Promise.

It’s a fixer-upper, Prompto admits, but he’s always been good with a wrench and a hammer. If they’d stayed in Insomnia, he would have definitely gunned for one of the mechanics or engineering programs. But. Well.

_Shit happens_, as Prompto likes to say.

Noctis is not as nice as Prompto is about their apartments’ prospects. “This is a piece of shit,” Noctis says, so blunt and unforgiving that Prompto guffaws; but Noctis isn’t frowning, nor is he scrunching up his nose in disdain, because—he’s smiling, lips pulled wide across his face. There’s a gleam in his eyes Prompto once saw the second they escaped Insomnia proper, all wild and energetic and a bleeding, desperate _hope_.

“It is,” Prompto says, smiling just as bright, as he entwines their fingers. “But it’s ours.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t think it possible for Noctis’ smile to get larger, but it did. “Hell yeah, it is.”

They spend a good week and a half fixing it up—making it _home_, instead of an apartment they could just barely afford—and they splurge a little on small knickknacks, and pillows, and little paintings from the home aisle at the dollar store around the street, and when Prompto steps through the door one evening after work, he looks around the cluttered spaces and the touches of _life_, of them, and doesn’t feel like they’re in over their heads.

(they totally are, but it’s okay because they have each other.

they won’t drown alone.)

* * *

The catalyst, of all things, was a Council meeting. Meetings in the Citadel always left Noctis feeling bereft and lost, like a piece of shattered wood adrift in the sea. He hadn’t wanted to attend, but he had, if only so Ignis nor his father could look at him in disappointment, and he chafed and bristled beneath the pressure of the expectation that he would begin more of his duties as prince now that he had graduated high school.

He was shattered glass haphazardly taped back together when he plopped down on Prompto’s bed some few hours later when the meeting ended. Prompto, being, well, himself, had cooked one of Noctis’ favorite dishes for dinner—and Noctis didn’t even complain about the vegetables, which made Prompto well-aware that something was wrong—and they later curled around one another beneath the covers once the dishes were washed and put away.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Noctis had said.

“Do what?” Prompto had asked, but they were both keenly aware of what Noctis meant. He only provided comfort the only way he knew how—by tucking Noctis under him, holding him as he trembled in the dark of Prompto’s room.

_I’m going to die here, _Noctis had murmured, that lost and desolate echo in his eyes, and Prompto—well, if his mind weren’t already made up, it sure was then by that expression alone. He put in his two weeks at the arcade, and they planned, and saved up enough money to fill three jars, and when Prompto cashed in his last paycheck, that was it. They took the Star at one in the morning and booked it to Hammerhead.

By the time anyone in the Citadel realized that neither Noctis nor Prompto were inside Insomnia, safe and snug in the comforts of their beds, they were halfway to Galdin Quay in the battered blue pickup truck they’d traded the Star for from Cid.

Noctis sat in the passenger side with the windows down, wind blowing through his hair in a way it never could back in Insomnia. He took photos with Prompto’s camera, even though the lighting conditions were horrible, but the bright smile, the relief in his eyes, made up for the quality.

They made a few stops along the way—Noctis took enthusiastic pictures of Longwythe Peak, and the two of them posed dorkily in front of it as another tourist captured them in all their immaturity. They snagged a quick meal at the Crow’s Nest and bought postcards they’d never send. Noctis snapped picture after picture of Kenny Crow as he lounged on the bench in front of the chair.

Prompto helped Noctis through paying and filling up his first tank of gas for their truck. “I’m going to call the car Greenie,” said Noctis as he watched the price for the gas tick upwards on the machine in a rapt and enthralled gaze that he would never obtain during council meetings or other princely duties. “And no, I’m not going to accept criticism.”

Prompto snorted. One of the first things he had done once they settled into their apartment was print and develop the photos Noctis took before they reached Galdin, and despite that most of them had the shadow of Noctis’ thumb on it or a weird filter that didn’t match the atmosphere and scenery, Prompto pinned them all on the bathroom mirror regardless.

Noctis notices one of them—a picture he took of Prompto as they mockingly raced with another car alongside the highway through the cliffsides that took them straight to Galdin after Longwythe, wind rustling his hair, mouth opened in a laugh; eyes crinkled in a way that said _yeah, this guys’ having a good time right now_—and barges out of the bathroom, half-dressed in his uniform, still brushing his teeth, and honest to gods _jumped _on Prompto while he was still half-asleep.

Prompto’s shriek most likely awoke half the apartment building. Toothpaste stains were an utter bitch to get out of fabric, but the look on Noctis’ face made most of his irritation drift away. 

* * *

They settle into a routine, and before Prompto blinks, he’s updating the calendar hung next to the small TV. They’ve made a life for themselves in Galdin for seven months now. Noctis whistles some random tune that’s playing on the slightly battered radio their neighbor gave them as a move-in gift in the kitchen. He’s flipping pancakes with ease.

Iggy would be proud if he could see.

Of course, their routine hadn’t always been as smooth sailing as it is now. Much as Noctis’ loathed to admit it, he had grown up rich; surrounded by wealth and the knowledge there was little he could want. Prompto, on the other hand, while his parents weren’t poor, they sure as hell hadn’t breached the upper-middle-class type of wealth.

They couldn’t spend their money on anything and everything under the sun, because they had to pay for gas and groceries and bills, so Prompto had sat Noctis down and gently (passive-aggressively, to be honest) explained the reality of their limited funds and need for budgeting, for coupons the upper class of Insomnia sneered at.

After a few more discussions—the excel document Prompto created for their budget certainly helped things feel more real—Noctis was more or less content with the fact that, well, he couldn’t just Buy Things. There were ups and downs, though; bumps and bruises that they smoothed over and discussed. Prompto refused to go to bed in a bad mood, and Noctis hated being at odds with Prompto.

They managed. They learned. They grew.

(and Noctis with a coupon book was a terrifying thing to look at, and Prompto honestly thinks he created a monster.

A couponing prince of a monster.)

Over the months, Prompto gained a small reputation with his photographs that he sometimes had back-to-back appointments for weeks, and it created a reliable-enough income for them to stretch their budget a little. “Don’t go too crazy,” Prompto had said as he watched Noctis eye one of his many coupon books. He’d pick up odd jobs here and there, especially in their apartment complex; his neighbors knew him to be the “guy to call if you need something fixed”.

Noctis, somehow, worked as both a sales manager at the local Galdin lure shop and a Hunter.

The lure shop was simple to swallow—Noctis had entered the lure shop to see they were hiring, filled out an application, and proceeded to run circles around the store owner with his knowledge of both lures and Lucian aquatic life. Noctis worked as a sales assistant before he ascended to managerial status.

He came home smelling like fish and other lures every night, but Prompto couldn’t complain because of how much . . . brighter Noctis was. Prompto would, however, pointedly shove a tide pod in his hands whenever he shucked his work clothes off in the bathroom. The heathen.

Now.

The hunting story.

And, Gods, was _it a story._

Prompto likes to call it the time Noctis went Chaotically Batshit—and it’s all capitalized because of the sheer stress and disbelief Prompto had gone through, _by the gods_—, and decided to live on the outskirts of Galdin Quay for almost two weeks where he fished in the shore and grilled the game he caught over a campfire in a manner that would’ve made Gladio have a coronary, and hunt down overgrown crabs, shieldspears, and other wildlife to do population control with a guy who had a heavy Leiden accent and talked about lures in a reverent tone that far outclassed Noctis.

The only reason why Prompto hadn’t flipped his shit about it was because, if he squinted, he could see the blurred shape of Noctis as he ran around like a wild child that you’d hear about in the 8’o clock news. For the better part of the week, Prompto half expected to see an inpour of Glaives into Galdin proper. Noctis behaved _that _unsubtly.

He returned to the apartment with two buckets worth of fish and other seafood, his grin just a few degrees shy of _wild,_ a Hunter badge of three golden stars stitched onto a leather jacket (and _where _he got the jacket, Prompto had no fucking idea), dumped a positively _shit ton _of gil in one of their savings jars, and declared, over the grilled shrimp scampi he had made for dinner that night, that he had discovered a calling and it didn’t involve royal jurisdiction.

“So,” Prompto had said, after he digested both his food and the story, still reeling from the amount of money killing shieldspears and seadevils had procured. Fuck, maybe he should be a Hunter? “. . . You got a job?”

Noctis deflated against some shrimp at Prompto’s unimpressed stare and poked at some shrimp. “You could at least be excited, you know?” 

As an apology, Prompto ate half of Noctis’ vegetables.

So.

They had a routine. They had an income. Prompto woke up first in the mornings for his run along the beach, and Noctis would wake to the smell of eggs and bacon he made when he returned from said run. Noctis would then proudly prepare two PB&J sandwiches for them for lunch, along with two small bags of apple slices and gummy worms he would then shove in a brown paper bag (because they are children, obviously), and they’d go to work. On the days they had off, they’d pile into the living room, squeeze onto the couch as if there weren’t enough room for the two of them to sprawl over it, and watch soap operas.

Whoever came first prepared dinner—Noctis could give a lot of professional chefs a challenge with his seafood dishes—and, if they had the ingredients, Prompto would whip up a small dessert. It wasn’t anything up to what Ignis would create, but it was something. It was theirs. Noctis would say he’d never tasted anything as exquisite, with chocolate icing on his lip, and Prompto would have no choice but to lean over their small, chipped table and kiss it away.

They lived, and they breathed, and they thrived. The shadows behind Noctis’ eyes dissipated the longer he settled his roots down at Galdin, and the nightmares he had that would sometimes shake Prompto awake in the dead of the night lessened, and Prompto couldn’t count his own ribcage anymore nor did the overwhelming sense of existential dread sink into his veins often.

They weren’t completely whole, but they were together. Saturdays were for cleaning because Prompto grew anxious and depressed at a too-cluttered house, but Sundays were solely Pajama Only Days. They had a corkboard full of pinned notes and photos and scribbled reminders of this and that. Noctis’ coupon books daily threatened the coffee tables’ impending collapse. The multicolored rug in the hallway had witnessed many falls as Prompto liked to tempt fate by sliding around in his socks whenever Noctis mopped. They knew their neighbors by name and by sight, and vice versa, and they had friends in the small area west of the popular attractions of Galdin.

Every night, Noctis entwined their fingers together before he slept. Sometimes he’d full-on lay atop Prompto and snore in a loud, obnoxious way until Prompto tickled him. They didn’t have the best view of Galdin, only an expanse of dirt and greenery and, if he really, really squinted, he could see the outline of the Quay. But they made their apartment a safe haven from stressful days. They made their small, run-down apartment _theirs_. 

They made it home.

* * *

Sometime after the Wild Child Debacle, Prompto comes home from a day full of appointments only to stop in his tracks after he closed the door. At first glance, there’s nothing wrong with the apartment. Nothing that sets Prompto’s heartbeat off.

“Hey!” Noctis smiles at him from his position on the floor. Various catalogs and small toys for pets are strewn over the living room rug. “You’re home early, baby.”

Prompto stares.

The bunny, snug on Noctis’ shoulder, stares back.

Prompto coughs after he loses the staring contest, and edges closer into the room. He sets his camera bag on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. “What, uh, what do ya have there, Noct? Buddy? Pal? Love of my life?”

Noctis holds up the glossy magazine. As if there is not a living, breathing little animal currently chilling on his left shoulder. “It’s a catalog.”

If Prompto weren’t so in love, he’d commit regicide right then and there. He settles for an eye twitch instead. “The bunny, Noctis,” Prompto starts slowly. “Why do you have _a bunny? _What is it doing in our apartment?_”_

Prompto didn’t even know if they could have pets.

“Luna the Bunny is not an _it_,” Noctis frowns. The bunny, somehow, gives Prompto a judgmental twitch of her nose.

Prompto takes a seat on the floor before his legs collapse beneath him. “You—you named the bunny after the Oracle?”

“Yup.” Deciding the conservation complete, Noctis flips through a few more pages of the catalog.

The bunny nibbles on a few strands of his hair before she takes a graceful leap off Noctis’ shoulder and promptly makes herself comfortable on Prompto’s lap. His heart melts as he gently pets her soft fur. Noctis is smiling behind the catalog.

Guess they have a bunny now.

Appeased at Prompto’s reaction to Luna the Bunny, Noctis disappears one early morning he doesn’t have a shift at the lure shop and returns with a trunk full of pet things. Prompto isn’t even mad because he spent the better half of the morning playing with a very affectionate black and white bunny. They set up her living space in a corner of the living room, placing down as much newspaper as they could get their hands on, but they leave the cage door open.

This is her home, now.

“No more animals, Noct,” Prompto tells his boyfriend once they finish making sure there was little Luna the Bunny (okay, Prompto’s calling her _Lubun_ for short) wanted. “Okay?”

“Kay,” Noctis says, preoccupied with taking a phone video of Lubun chewing on a leaf.

Prompto sighs.

When Noctis arrives home two hours late with a shivering ball of fluff in his hands, Prompto is wholly unsurprised by the turn of events. They call the cat, a sweet little thing Noctis found in the dumpsters of a Crows’ Nest, _Gladdy._

“If either of them shows up here,” Prompto says at the sight of the many, many scratching posts, of Gladdy having the time of her life with Noctis’ laser-pointer, “I’m going to fight you.”

“Sure, sweetie,” says Noctis.

But Prompto really can’t deny that their pets have filled up a hole he didn’t even know existed. While a cat and a bunny don’t really make much noise, they provide comfort and warmth that Prompto and Noctis sorely needs. Their home feels more like a home, fuller, with their presence. Also, bunny cuddling is a _thing _and it’s great.

Their first year in Galdin, away from the Crown City, away from expectations that threatened to break Noctis’ neck, starts with Prompto and Noctis curled around on the couch, an old black-and-white sitcom playing on the TV, a bunny sitting primly on Prompto’s hips and a cat making a nest of blankets by their feet. Outside, the sky rumbles in the distance. It doesn’t really snow in southern Leide, because of the heat and the environment, but the constant rain and cold weather make up for it.

They had a blanket draped around them, but Gladdy took over it thirty minutes into the sitcom, and they were truly horrible at saying no to their pets.

Noctis laughs, a light sound that floats in the air. “And they said we could never do something like this. didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Prompto replies in a low murmur. “They sure did.”

People would always remark that Noctis was spoiled and sullen and that he wouldn’t survive without Ignis, without the Citadel staff and servants, and yet here he was, twenty-one with two full-time careers and an apartment (whoever shitty said apartment might’ve been), and two pets to take care of. If anyone were to see them now, Noctis would be unfamiliar, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Rain pitter-patters against the window. Prompto thinks it’s Ramuh’s way of giving them his blessings.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it!


End file.
